Silas was both looking forward to and dreading the Christmas tradition with Brandon. He knew he was going to get shit about the cast probably, and how much of an idiot he’d been for the stunt that had landed him in it. Hell, he was surprised he hadn’t heard more about it than he had so far. But he didn’t want it to turn into one big argument and ruin something that he and Brandon had done for a couple years now.
The cast was itchy too. And it still hurt. And it was messing with how productive he was. He’d given up on the heavy meds already, since they didn’t seem to do much more than make him feel high and that wasn’t a state he actually enjoyed feeling anymore. Came with too much baggage and risk. But Zach had said only six weeks in the thing, since the break had been clean enough, and it hadn’t broken skin. Small favors.
He wasn’t trying to be late, but he wasn’t surprised either when he showed up at the Horsemen and Brandon was already there. Three bottles sitting in front of him. Silas sat with a nod of greeting, and set the box of bullets and the six pack of beer he’d managed to grab the other day to what was already sitting at the table. “The bullets are for you,” he said, “the beer is too, if you want it.” It wasn’t as hard as anything else on the table, but it was the good stuff. He’d been surprised when he’d found it, actually.
“Merry Christmas, man,” he added with a smirk, raising the empty glass sitting in front of him. He hoped that it didn’t look as awkward as it felt to use his right hand for the action. He was unlucky enough to have broken his dominant arm.